


The Hollow Space We Left Behind

by Decisions_Decisions



Series: A Chat with Myself [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Magical Realism, Mind Palace, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decisions_Decisions/pseuds/Decisions_Decisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John learned the hard way never to trust Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hollow Space We Left Behind

Before he was John Watson he was not much more than another facet of Sherlock. He was like a single brushstroke in a painting, a splash of red that added color and definition, but was nothing without the rest of the brush strokes that formed the masterpiece that was Sherlock. He was so entwined in Sherlock that he never noticed that he wasn't exactly the same as him, so entwined were they. He didn't even realize that he could be more until Sherlock lost Redbeard and the facet that would one day become Jim Moriarty began to sing sweetly in the shadows of the palace. 

At first he was distant, merely an echo, lost in pain and his own shattered state as he built up walls to defend himself. He wasn't aware that that was what he was doing, he wasn't aware of much at all, besides the pain and the crushing sense of something missing. Awareness came slowly, like a seedling pushing itself up out of the ground. His awareness was slow building at first, little things, little not entirely Sherlock things began to join with the little red brush stroke until it became something like a painting all its own. With his growing awareness of himself came an awareness of his home, the mind of a young and hurting Sherlock Holmes.

His door, which he discovered when Sherlock’s boredom had trickled down to him and the need to get out had itched under his skin, was one of the most complete areas he’d seen. Walking through the halls was strange at first, it wasn't like anything he'd ever recalled seeing before when he was more Sherlock. The palace was half built, and undeveloped, ever shifting to contain Sherlock's ever growing collection of knowledge, but it promised to be beautiful one day when Sherlock had grown up more. 

He met other facets in his treks through a palace that grew and shifted and developed more and more with every passing day. He even grew familiar with which was which, a hard thing when nearly every facet shared the same face. Dark curls, pale skin, silver blue eyes, they were traits that almost all of Sherlock’s facets shared in common. Though some were beginning to take on forms of people Sherlock knew, like logic a facet that looked more and more like Mycroft with every passing day and one that he thought might be loyalty who walked through the palace as Redbeard.

He never looked like anyone until Sherlock decided that needed a friend. Sherlock imagined features, a form, a name, a voice, to create an imaginary friend to dull the pain of losing Redbeard. He hadn’t wanted to change, but he had little choice in the matter, Sherlock’s imagination had latched onto him. A nameless copy of Sherlock was dragged into that storm of imagination and John was what was left when the winds stopped blowing. He was blonde and bright with eyes that were Sherlock’s favorite color, dark blue. His skin was tanner than Sherlock’s and his knees were rough and stained green and brown because Sherlock wanted his friend to be normal and normal children played outside.

When Sherlock made him his friend he changed like a chemical reaction quickly and violently. Suddenly he was aware of everything even as Sherlock projected him onto the real world and dragged him off on adventures. He was aware of feeling, of warmth that built in his chest every time Sherlock would take his hand. He laughed when they would run off playing pirates, the grass tickling under his bare toes and Sherlock’s laughter ringing through the air with his. He talked and Sherlock listened, but when he spoke there was always a frown on Sherlock’s face, like he’d said something Sherlock hadn't expected to hear. Like the time that they’d been playing and Sherlock’s mother had asked him to go back inside and John suggested that they should go inside.

Mycroft proved to be the end of his very short existence as Sherlock's imaginary friend. He made fun of Sherlock for being stupid, because to him having an imaginary friend was something only a stupid child would have. Sherlock had argued that it wasn’t stupid and that John was real, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. It didn’t take long at all before Sherlock deleted him, or tried to at least, and when that failed he was locked back up in his room to be forgotten. 

John screamed and shouted, he pounded on the door endlessly, but no matter how much he tried to open it or plead to be let out the door stayed shut. He screamed he stormed and Sherlock followed in his footsteps not quite understanding why he was acting the way he was. It was during that turbulent time late at night when Sherlock was asleep that John heard a knock on the door. He turned and walked up to the door pressing his ear against it as another knock rang out. It wasn’t a normal knock it was musical and playful.

“Hello Johnny Boy.” The sweet sing song flowed through the door. “I can get you out of there, but if I do you have to do something for me.”

John never really talked to the other figments and they rarely talked to him. Redbeard visited him often scratching on the door and whining, but Redbeard couldn’t talk. Logic who by this time wore Mycroft’s face like he was born with it showed up to lecture him and their conversations were always one sided. So when he heard the voice, one that wasn’t a copy of Sherlock’s on the other side of the door he answered. “Who’s there?”

He could practically hear the grin in the other figments voice when he spoke. “You can call me Jim, so Johnny Boy do you want me to open the door?”

John licked his lips turning the idea over in his head and in the end only one thing prevented him from saying yes at that moment. “What do you want me to do?”

“There’s another door, it takes two people to open, and everyone else in here is so boring, they’re all too afraid to open it. You’re not afraid though are you John?”

“No!” John shouted before wincing and repeating it more softly. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Good now, follow me.” The door clicked and swung open.

The other figment was as different looking from Sherlock as John was. His hair was short and straight not a curl in sight though like Sherlock’s it was black. He had a manic grin and eyes that were so dark that to John they looked like pools of shadow. He stepped into the hallway which at the moment was crowded with things, facts and data, people and things Sherlock’s knowledge sorting itself out for the night. Jim weaved through the crowded halls with John on his heels leading him into a hall he had never found on his treks through the mind palace. The hall was large and shrouded in shadow, a noticeable coating of dust on everything, and it ended in a large door that stood like a monolith at the end of it. The door was huge and its design seemed to change every time John looked away from it.

“Here it is Johnny Boy, our key to freedom, and all we need to do is open the door. If you thought being out in the halls was fun you’re going to love this.” Jim said with a twirl his teeth shining in the darkness as he smiled.

He walked up to the bronze door knob and twisted it gesturing to John as he began to lean all his weight against it gesturing for John to do the same. John nodded and walked up to the door pushing against it with all his strength. The door creaked and groaned, they threw their weight against it and it shuddered but refused to budge. They threw their weight against it again and they were thrown into a world of flashing colors and shifting shadows. When the colors and shadows faded John stumbled dazed dressed in pajamas that mirrored the pirate themed ones Sherlock had worn that night. He didn’t know where he was besides the fact that he was outside and he couldn’t focus on anything without his head spinning and nausea attacking his stomach. Grass tangled around his feet and mud seeped between his toes the rain soaked earth releasing a scent he knew well from playing with Sherlock. He breathed in air that was thick with moisture and stuck uncomfortably in his throat. He walked too dazed to do much else and he didn’t realize that he’d left the grass, not until twin points of blinding light rushed toward him and he froze.


End file.
